The Haunting
by Sherry
Summary: Two people in a forest together are suddenly reminded of their true identity. Might be a little more interesting than the summary says but I don't want to give anything away. I'm gonna kill my muse for this...
1. runaway

The Haunting

A/N : This is the true Haunting, my friends. I just felt like writing it, so bear with me, OK? This has nothing to do with my other haunting. I'm feeling lazy. Please review, if you like it; if you don't I'll take the hint and not continue it.

Disclaimer : They belong to J. K. Rowling, although it might not seem so at first...

Note : 'Bran' is pronounced with the vowel in farm or barn and means raven in Welsh.

The forest had always been unrelenting, and now during the autumn it was beginning to chill, leaves strewing the ground, the streams supplying freezing cold water. Icy clear liquid flowed into a canister against a makeshift dam of leaves and twigs, and further away a small fire crackled on a space on the ground cleared of dead leaves. A young man warmed his hands, pulling the jacket closer around him. 

The sunlight glinted off the wispy hair as the young man unfolded his thin limbs to get up and take his water. Splashing a little of it onto his face out of his cupped hands, the young man sighed. He would have to find a warmer place if it was going to snow. Yes, _he_, because his other companion was absolutely no use. He was probably asleep now, and would have to be woken up for dinner. It was almost as though he had gone into hibernation like the other wild animals [thank goodness for that]… 

Slowly he got up and threw a handful of dirt onto the fire, extinguishing it immediately. His once elegant garments were now tattered, darns with rough twine showing here and there. His companions' were no better, though he had darned them with the only real thread left to them, the man recollected sourly. And had damned them, too, with the soft clear voice that was so familiar to him. 

He made steady pace towards the camp, and found James chucking stones idly across the floor of the cave. 'Stop that!' he admonished, and the slender boy looked up. 'I got some water. Hand me the cups.' The black-haired boy handed over some smooth wooden cups, hewn with his own knife. 

'Bran, what's for dinner?' 

'Nothing, there's nothing there. I sat there for ages and all I caught was this.' Bran held up a leaf. 'We'll just have to make do with soup. Come here, I want you to mix these.' He pulled a pile of herbs out of a small leather bag and began to sort them out furiously. 'Here… no, we don't want this…' 

James took the herbs and threw them into the pot, then sat down on the floor to light a fire. Bran moved to the edge of the cave, inhaling cold air. The air itself was no longer invigorating, and every breath you took seemed to take something out of you. 

A sudden audible intake of breath sounded from the corner of the cave. 

'What's that?' 

'Something touched my cheek.' James was holding a hand to his cheek in bewilderment. 'It was cold… reminded me of…' 

'Of what?' 

'I can't remember.' His brows knitted in a frown as he heated the water over the fire. 'It's strange. I feel like there's something I ought to remember, something from another life.' 

'What life?' Bran snorted. 'You're just imagining things, James – Ouch!' He put a hand to his cheek as well, staring across at the boy across the cave who was frozen in the same position. 'Someone slapped me!' 

'Nothing, it was nothing,' James said abruptly, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand. Bran sighed and went back to staring out of the cave and wondering exactly how long it would take before he froze to death. 

'Here, eat.' James pushed a bowl of steaming stew into Bran's hands. He took it wordlessly and lifted it to his lips – they had a wooden spoon, but James was using that – and took a sip, swallowing slowly. He ran his fingers over the grooves in the bowl that said his name – Bran – in roughly carved letters. He had taken his name from his Animagus form, the raven, because before that he had been drifting in the woods, nameless and alone. Before he had met James… 

As he sipped thoughtfully at his stew he looked up at James, who was using the spoon delicately. His hair was getting rather long, and Bran resolved to cut it before the month was out. James's tattered denim jeans were turned up at the ends to keep them from fraying, and a gaping hole showed at the knee where he had encountered an unfriendly weasel. It was hard to find out anything about James; either he had forgotten everything or he was being extremely stubborn. 

'D'you think it's going to be cold this winter?' James queried suddenly, looking up and perceiving Bran's eyes boring holes into his. 'Hey, what's the matter with you?' 

'Nothing, and I hope not,' replied Bran, smoothing back his wispy hair. 'If it does…' He left the rest unanswered. James looked back down at his bowl and began to eat a little more hurriedly. Bran realised he looked hungry, and looked down at his own bowl. James hadn't eaten lunch; he had been too tired to wake. 

'Here, eat,' he echoed his companion. 'I'm not that hungry.' 

'Nah, I couldn't…' James insisted, but his eyes flicked hungrily towards the bowl. 

'Go on!' Bran shoved it towards him. 

'You sure?' 

'Of course, dimwit.' 

He watched as James finished the stew, affection and annoyance battling themselves in his mind. There was a strange feeling in the air as well, as though something was waiting for them. What had slapped him just a little while ago? 

He didn't want to know what it was. 

Bran dreamt he was holding a ticking time bomb in his hands, a very clichéd time bomb at that, with the numbers clearly written in red and the classic fuse at the end of a rounded black sphere. Wait a minute, there shouldn't be a fuse in the time bomb. 

He was in a little cottage, and James was laughing at him. He was angry, very angry, but when he tried to throw the bomb at James, it wouldn't explode, only made a little popping noise and lay mutilated on the floor like an insult. James stopped laughing. Bran woke up frowning. 

He looked across and saw James fast asleep, his meagre covers thrown off, breathing softly with his mouth slightly open. His wild black hair fell in locks across the heather and one arm was thrown wide as though welcoming an invisible entity. Bran reached out to pull the covers back up on him. 

'Yes, pretty, isn't he?' 

Bran shot round abruptly, knocking his hand into James, who moaned softly but did not wake. There was a barely discernible shadow by the entrance to the cave, a formless, empty shadow. 'Who are you?' he wanted to scream, but the sentence did not listen to him, modified itself into '_What_ are you?' and sidled out of his mouth with a disturbing change of emphasis. 

'What, you don't recognise me?' the thing asked, its voice harsh and cold. 'Why, I'm disappointed in you, my dear boy. Once I was everything to you.' 

'I'm dreaming,' Bran muttered to himself, shaking his head. 

'When was the last time you cut that hair?' the thing asked, moving closer with a small chuckle. 'We would never have let you look like _that_. I must say, it becomes you, however – you look very interesting. How long have you been living here?' 

'Wraiths don't ask personal questions,' said Bran, a flash of understanding flowing over him, although he had no idea where he had got the name from. 'Neither do they insult others who, even if I say so myself, look much better than they do. _Neither_ do they disturb others' beauty sleep. Leave me alone.' 

'Spunky as always,' the Wraith hissed, doing a mad kind of twist and suddenly resembling the trees outside – twisted and ethereal. Bran shuddered as icy fingers brushed his neck. 'I'm come to remind you.' 

'Remind me of what?' Bran challenged, although his heart was beating faster and faster. 

In answer the Wraith laid a cold hand on his forehead, and the grey walls spun and turned a pure, blasting white. 

He was surrounded by children, all in long black robes; he was face to face with James, and shouting obscenities. Before he had time to ponder this, he was whisked to another image, of a tall, cold man, and of being terrified; a blonde sad woman who leaked blue tears. He saw himself crouched in a corner with blows raining down on him, although he could not see from whom the blows came. He saw an old castle, a lake, boats; a tall giant of a man with beetle-black eyes and a wide grin. Then there were more images; a man, tall, cold and white-lipped, with horrible red eyes. A spider writhing in torment, and why was he chuckling? 

Then suddenly, in a brilliant flash of understanding, he _knew_; he knew who he was, he knew his past, why he was here, _who James was_. And it was a fact he did not like at all. 

'Yes,' the Wraith hissed in his ear. 'Yes…' And he was back in the cave, breathing heavily, his long hair all over his face. The peacefully sleeping James lay on his bed, his mouth still slightly open. 

Bran did the first thing that came to mind, and pounced on James, shaking him awake. 'You! Why didn't you tell me? It was _you_!' 

'Huh?' 

'You're not James!' A long breath escaped Bran as he realised James had no idea what he was talking about. 'You're not James. You're… you're Harry Potter.' 

'_Huh_?' 

'Don't you know me? Yes, you know me! You _hate_ me! I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy.' 

The Wraith sneered as the two stared at each other, transfixed. 'Yes, yes, my two little gullible cubs. Now you remember what happened? My job is done… and now that that's finished, it's time to finish you.' It drifted closer and closer, circling them. 'You created me, both of you, between you,' it hissed, its voice sending shivers up their bones. 'Me and many more are waiting for you. You will not rest my dears, not for a long time.' 

'You're _him_!' James exclaimed, still unable to comprehend the sudden flash of understanding. Not James; Harry, for indeed it was he. Draco lifted a hand to gently trace the lightning scar on his forehead, and knew. 'And… what's _that_?' 

'You and your meddling,' hissed the Wraith, still circling, getting ever closer. 'You created us. We cannot rest. We serve the Lord, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, the Dark Lord, and him alone. By running from him, defying him, hurting him, you evoke our wrath.' 

'Quick, James – Harry – my wand!' Draco hissed at him. Harry snatched his wand off the ledge it lay on and passed it to him. Draco waved it at the Wraith, uttering words under his breath, and drew a circle on the ground. Blue flames erupted from the tip of the wand, surrounding the two who stood terrified in the middle. 

More and more ghostly forms were drifting into the cave, some resembling the Wraith, others fully visible. A tall man whose gait was slow and jerky stumbled into the cave, reaching out for them, burning his fingers at the flames. Draco muttered some more strange spells, and the **things** began to snarl at him. 

'What are you doing?' 

'Trust me!' 

The **things** were moving again, closer and closer to the flame. Draco felt suddenly very, very cold. He began to shout, spells of protection learnt under Professor Lupin in Defence Against The Dark Arts. 

All of a sudden, they were alone. The blue flame was gone; the **things** were vanished. The wind beat against the grey walls. Harry turned to Draco, shaken, and they both sat down, facing each other. Draco was too stunned to speak. 

'We went to Hogwarts together…' Harry said slowly. 'And I was fighting Voldemort. Their Dark Lord.' 

'Yes, and my father put a Memory Charm on me and turned me out of the house.' 

'Why?' Harry asked curiously. 'I thought you were the golden boy.' 

'Never mind why. You were just overstrained, that's why you forgot?' 

'Yes… I drove him away… then I…' 

'James – I mean Harry – let's just go to sleep now, shall we? All that magic made my head ache…' Draco lay down again. 'We'll talk tomorrow, if I don't find out that all this is actually a dream.'

A/N : I actually posted this? Oh NO... Well, if you actually *want* to read more, please review. If you don't want to, just review anyway._ _


	2. sheltered beings

The Haunting II

A/N : Part 2, since I'm on holiday here. Have fun. This wrote itself by the way, so don't flame, please. It came fast because of all the lovely people who reviewed... check the bottom for thanks.

Disclaimer: What you see belongs to me: Moql, Reuben, Sharona and Raman. The rest belong to the She.

The morning was as unpromising as usual; clouds drifted across the sky lazily. Leaves had blown in at the mouth of the cave and covered the leaf-woven mat at the entrance. As the boy with wild black hair woke up, he touched a hand to his aching scar. The events of the last night came flooding back to him painfully. He looked across at the fair-haired boy, who was up already, and tending to breakfast. 

'Morning, Bran – Draco,' he mumbled, and the boy with silver hair turned around to look at him. 

'Good morning,' Draco replied awkwardly, wondering if Harry still remembered who he was. 'Hope you're feeling better.' Eyes the colour of steel wandered from Harry's face to his scar. 'So you do remember.' 

'Yes,' Harry replied slowly. 'I can't believe I've spent so long away from everything I've ever known! And with _you_!' He paused, and Draco remembered looking at his scar thoughtfully, wondering how the boy had got such a perfectly thin, outlined scar – with such a strange shape! The innocence on James's face had stayed with Harry, but the softness and wildness that Bran's had obtained were almost vanished, replaced with a hard steely gaze and a strange wariness. This was Draco Malfoy, almost exactly as he had been before – this… Perhaps it was the Wraith's effects, but Draco didn't seem to resemble Bran in Harry's eyes. He was the Draco Malfoy of schooldays and later, yet there was a faint quality about him that reminded Harry of Bran, the raven. 

'I know what you mean,' Draco said. 'I hated you in school, Potter, I really did. And to have lived _peacefully_ with you for so long… it's like a miracle! I wonder how they're doing back in the real world.' He looked at Harry and saw two large green eyes fixed on his face. 'What?' 

'I'm not _Potter_,' said Harry, 'at least not to you… I'm Harry! You called me James!' Draco was about to retort that he wasn't James, not any more, and then realised that he _was_. A vague essence hung about him, the old Harry was back, but James was still there. The innocent face, the face that seemed to belong to the little boy, looked up at him with large eyes. 

'All right,' Draco said. 'And we'd better refrain from quarrelling like we did, Jam – Pot – uh, Harry…' 

There was a faint hint of amusement in Harry's eyes. 

'Uh… well, maybe you'd better tell me a little more on how you got here, Harry,' Draco concluded hurriedly. 

Harry, sitting up with the covers loosely thrown round him, looked thoughtful. His hair was longer than Draco remembered, and messier; it was over the collar of the Muggle shirt he wore, and Draco's wasn't much better. His face was pale and smooth, his eyes bright green. He looked like a child, Draco thought half-scornfully. All that Dark Magic had screwed his head. 'I fought him,' Harry said thoughtfully, 'and he vanished. Still in hiding, but seriously weakened, and defeated at the peak of his rise for power. The whole world honoured me… but I had gone too, you see. I came here, I forgot everything. He did that. I became James.' His face grew pained. 'My father…' 

'_My_ father obliterated my memory when he found out I'd been helping you,' said Draco, and at the look on Harry's face he said, 'Yes, Potter, I was helping you. It's a long story.' 

'I appreciate that.' 

'Good.' 

They sat in silence for a while, the early-morning sunlight playing with Draco's hair and turning it into silver threads that waved gently over a high pale forehead. Harry leant on one elbow and stared up at the ceiling after losing a silent but furious battle with Draco for that coveted eye-spot on the floor that didn't hurt one's eyes so much. 

They ventured outside later, looking again for food, but it had disappeared; they would be having herbs again. Now that they knew who they really were it was very strange to be in the forest, living in a cave together. Draco had a nagging feeling that if he stayed in the woods until winter he would never get out. 

'Harry,' he said. 

'Yes?' 

'Have you ever thought of returning to civilisation? You know… having a real bath for once? Do you know we've been surviving on herbs for ages?' 

Again Harry looked thoughtful. 'Maybe,' he said doubtfully, 'but wouldn't it be rather difficult? I mean… would they recognise me? You? What would they say…?' 

'We'd better stop dithering before the Wraiths get us,' said Draco. 'They're very angry. I think Voldemort's back.' For the first time he saw Harry shiver at the name, and stared. 'What, P – Harry?' 

'Nothing,' said Harry. 'I thought… well, never mind. Maybe we should get out of this place. But, Draco, there's just one problem.' 

'And what's that?' 

'Do you actually know the way out of this place?' 

'Ooh, Lockhart Doll's brain is working,' said Draco pointedly. 'No, I don't. That's why I'm asking you whether we should have a go at it. _What_, Harry?' 

'Lockhart Doll?' asked Harry, with a hint of amusement on his face. Draco let out an exasperated sigh. 

'Never MIND, P – Harry, there's more to worry about than idiotic toys! I say we go and pack up now, the Wraiths are strongest at Midwinter and I don't know how long it's going to take us to actually keep from moving in circles, let alone get out of here. We'll never get out. I know these things – Father had a pet Wraith he used to torture me with. We got in here to hide from the world, right? Where would we be once we get out of here?' 

'Dunno…' 

'You're _useless_, did anyone ever tell you that?' 

In the short space of a day the rucksack that was their only large bag was packed and ready, and Harry and Draco were sitting on the floor eating their soup – or, in Draco's case, drinking it. They were ready to move. Draco put the bowl into the bag, motioned for Harry to do the same, and got up. 

'We're going now?' 

'No,' said Draco, 'we're going to sit here, join hands and sing Heal The World. Come _on_, dimwit, we're going! Get up, you can carry the rucksack first.' 

'I'll miss this place,' said Harry unexpectedly. He ran his fingers over the grey stone. 'To think I've been staying here for so long…' 

'…with me,' Draco finished. 'I know. Well, Harry, we're in this together.' He gave a heavy sigh; saying _Harry_ suddenly came naturally to him. 'Whether we like it or not. We're on the same side, you and I. Now stop being sentimental and MOVE!' Yet he ran his hand down the wall as well, promising himself he would remember it for ever. 

'Follow streams, they said,' Draco muttered distractedly as he and Harry traced a loopy path along the stream. 'Here, it's my turn for the bag.' He slung it over his shoulder and continued. 

They spent a long while wandering along the banks of the stream, which meandered into a river after about two miles' walk. They sat down for lunch, this time having a fish which Harry caught,earning a little respect at least. The leaves crunched underfoot. The air, which was dull and heavy, made them tired. Draco reflected that he had never seen such an unpleasant autumn before. 

He would not give in to fear, but… 

… he knew the Wraiths were behind them, and hot in pursuit. He was afraid for himself and for Harry, whose blood they seemed to want very badly. He could hear soft singing behind him sometimes, and kept annoying Harry by asking if he heard it too. There was a smell of fear, of hiding, and he knew that they must be in what people called the Black Woods; a haunted forest of trees, where Voldemort was rumoured to be keeping his supporters. Draco shuddered. The vague forms that twisted at every turn of his imagination were scaring him. 

He exchanged the pack with Harry several times, and they went on. 

It was during the night that they encountered their largest challenge of all so far. They had set up camp by a large, spreading oak, a small fire warming their hands, and Harry was leaning against a tree, half asleep, next to a sleeping Draco. He had been content to live in the forest for a while now, because he hadn't known there was life _outside_ it… but now he felt a longing for other people, for voices other than Draco's, familiar voices. 

'Harry… Harry!' 

It was a familiar voice indeed, and Harry started, looking up. A boy with flaming red hair was standing over him, a very familiar grin spread over his freckled face. A girl stood next to him, her hair long, brown and wavy, her eyes chocolate-brown. She wore a perpetually worried expression, but smiled at him anyway. 

'Ron?' Harry choked. 'Hermione?' 

They smiled, nodded, laughed. As if in a trance, Harry got up and reached out towards them. 

There were more people in the clearing now, people that Harry had known and loved. There was Hagrid, beetle-black eyes smiling in a careworn face, there was Dumbledore, with his long white beard and half-moon spectacles. There were the Hogwarts students as he had known them before trouble descended – the Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and his fellow Gryffindors. Seamus and Dean grinned at him through thick branches; Fred, George and Lee Jordan came up to stand by his two closest friends, who had not moved from their spot in front of him. Everyone was smiling, laughing. An idiotic grin spread over Harry's face and he got up, turning slowly, drinking in the faces he had missed for so long. 

There was something _wrong_ in the joyful atmosphere, Harry's thoughts suddenly registered, something discordant that broke the music of the laughter. Their faces weren't real – weren't _theirs_. Without realising it he had backed up against the tree and they were now surrounding him. Harry let out a small moan. He so badly wanted to even touch their hands, talk to them again. 

Hermione laughed, a high silvery effortless laugh. Harry stretched out his hands. 'Come, Harry,' she cried. 'Come back to us.' Ron took a step forward, one of his rather large hands reaching out towards Harry's. Harry stretched painfully, and then – 

'No,' he said. And the pain he felt at saying this was beyond words. They weren't real. 

Their faces changed, grew snarling and angry. Ron's face was twisted into a scowl Harry knew he would never see on the face of the real Ron. Tears were running down his cheeks. Hermione alone kept her composure, smiling at Harry and reaching to him. 'Come on, you silly boy,' she called. 'Come back with us.' But behind her airy smile Harry saw the cold grin and icy hands of the Wraith. 

'No!' 

They vanished suddenly, and the pang of loneliness that Harry felt at their going struck him like a knife through the heart. He sank to his knees, sobbing into his hands, and felt a comforting hand at his shoulder. It was Draco. 

After many days of walking, in which Harry acted like a super-special animated… glazed wax statue, and Draco behaved like the aunt who he despised, alternately scolding and keeping quiet. He knew that Harry's demons were disturbing him. They stopped to eat, to rest, to wash, and both of them said hardly a word to each other. 

Sometimes Draco would transform into a raven and fly over the treetops, looking for land, but it was a long flight and he was not strong. He dared not go too far for fear of losing Harry. The trees were almost bare and the days were getting shorter. They were running out of time. 

And just when the first frost had appeared on the trees, Draco spotted a small clearing as he flew high above the trees. Smoke rose from it. Flying closer, he saw houses, sparse but… _houses_. 

They had found civilisation. 

With apprehension in every muscle, Draco and Harry approached the small village that Draco had spotted a day earlier. Every bone in their bodies ached from walking non-stop, and Harry still sported the strangely uneven haircut that Draco had… assisted, or forced, or absolutely demanded. Draco himself had cut his hair, being more efficient at it than Harry was. 

The little group of houses had the river running through them and seemed rather illogically arranged. Draco raised his eyebrows and walked closer. There was no one in sight, though washing was hung up on a crude line by one of the houses and smoke issued from a few of the chimneys. 

'Hello!' Draco called. 'Lost travellers seeking shelter!' 

Miraculously a figure appeared from behind a house with a large jar. It was a girl in rough green-brown garments with long fair hair, of a slightly darker shade than Draco's. She didn't pay any attention to them, but stooped to draw water from the river. The two boys glanced at each other uncertainly. 

'Hello,' Draco said, trying not to alarm her. 

She glanced up. Draco smiled at her uncertainly, but she smiled back easily. 'Hello,' she returned. 'What are _you_ doing in this part of the forest?' She had a strange ring to her speech that Harry couldn't put his finger on. 'What's your name?' 

'Draco Malfoy,' said Draco, and looked a little put out when the girl laughed. 

'I'm Harry Potter,' said Harry, and she seemed to look at him with more appraisal than she had when she looked at Draco, tracing from his eyes to his scar to the rest of him. The way she looked at his scar unnerved Harry somewhat, although she gave no sign of knowing who he was. 

'We seek shelter,' Draco cut in, as the two of them were staring at each other… Harry was thinking _She's pretty, I wonder how old she is_… which is and will be for generations a rather dangerous thought when put in the minds of hormonal young men, however long they live in a strange haunted forest. 'Are there others in your village?' 

'Yes,' said the girl. Harry was observing her; she was small and fine-boned, not very tall, and very pretty, with pale blue eyes set in a heart-shaped face. 'Wait here.' She took the jar of water away with her, disappearing into one of the small wooden houses. As she walked away with the jar, Harry and Draco glared at each other. 

A man came out of the house. He had thick brown hair and was scowling at both of the travellers, who stood a little distance away now, looking fearful. The girl came with him. She was talking very fast. 

'This is Draco Malfoy,' she said, pointing to Draco, 'and this is Harry Potter. Boys, this is Reuben.' 

'Pleased to meet you,' said Harry, extending a hand – Draco could see why all the girls were mad about him. That old charm thing… Reuben of the thick brown hair did not look pleased to see them, however, although he shook Harry's hand. His eyes were dark and secretive, set in hollows in his long, powerful face. Draco shook hands with him, explaining their plight. Reuben was unimpressed. 

'What if they have brought the Wraiths with them, Moql?' 

'We have protection…' 

Reuben growled, a rather canine-like sound. Draco recoiled slightly. Now Moql was looking at him, with the same expression of amusement that Harry sometimes wore. It irritated him. 

'Protection? Moql, our only protection is an old woman and a few old bones…' 

'They look trustable… and the dark-haired one…' She whispered something in his ear. As Harry expected, their eyes performed the familiar flick from his face to his scar and back to his face. He was used to it. 

'They may seek shelter here, Moql, but if any harm falls upon us here it is on your head,' said Reuben finally. 'But when the moon shines…' He stopped abruptly. Moql looked unnerved. 'Take them to Sharona – if she will let them sleep there, that is.' He laughed shortly. 'And if they aren't afraid of a few old bones.' 

'Sharona is a good woman,' Moql said heatedly, but Reuben just laughed and motioned for her to leave. They were taken to another wooden house, with smoke issuing from a round chimney. 

'This is the house of Sharona, our wise woman,' Moql told them. 'There is fire in her house, a fire you must never extinguish. It's protection from the Wraiths.' 

'Fire?' 

'She keeps a fire burning. It is warm and it keeps us safe. She is not in her house… I think she is gathering something out in the woods. She has a boy called Raman, I believe – he is playing with the other children near here. Come with me, I will show them to you.' 

She took them to another clearing a little space away from all the quaint houses. There were about ten or so children in the clearing, all playing together, and one little boy sitting on a tree-stump alone. Moql pointed to the lone child, saying, 'This is Raman.' 

He had brown skin and strangely pale hair, and a toothy smile that was so white it was dazzling. He waved to Moql, who hugged him, and introduced him to Draco and Harry, both of who were feeling exceedingly stupid. 

'Sharona found Raman in the woods a little while ago,' said Moql, releasing the little boy, who stared at the young men with large unblinking amber eyes that seemed to be wondering why 'Auntie Moql' was talking to two 'great big strangers'. 'He's our little changeling.' Raman was still staring up at them. 'He's not very used to us yet, but he adores Sharona. I come to see him often.' 

'He's a decorative little kiddie all right,' said Draco. Moql looked at him, a teasing, half-curious look that he tried hard not to return. 'Why's he wearing a dress?' Raman was dressed in a long flowing garment that went down to his knees. 

'Dress?' 

'Never mind…' 

They met Sharona later, a small wisp of a woman with white hair. She had agreed to their residing with her for as long as they needed to, and she showed them to a small room. With just one bed. 

She didn't talk much, just smiled at them and took them downstairs where a peevish Reuben and worried-looking Moql were waiting for them to join the dinner table. They took their seats and Sharona served them dinner, a strange mix of meat (where had she got that from?), stew and vegetables. Harry loaded the small delicate spoon they used with stew and swallowed dubiously; his face brightened. 'C'mon, Draco, eat! This is _good_!' 

'All right,' Draco said, and speared a piece of meat on the end of the two-pronged fork they used. 

'Our community helps each other,' said Reuben, 'and all of us help ourselves. I hope you are planning on making yourselves useful.' 

'Oh Reuben!' complained Moql, spearing a leaf. 'They're just looking for shelter, can't you see how tired they are? It's winter already, and they're going to freeze…' 

'Yes, they do look as though they wouldn't last the winter, the pale one especially – he looks like a breeze would knock him back into Kansas.' 

'Hey!' 

'Put some meat on those bones, Malfoy!' 

'You too, Potter!' 

Later they went into a circular room sparsely furnished with three wooden chairs, covered with a soft fleecy cloth. The room was airy and open. Reuben, Draco and Harry took the chairs, and Moql insisted on sitting on the floor cross-legged. Sharona was clearing up, and as she came in Draco and Harry both stood up at the same time and offered to give her the seat. She sat down in Draco's chair, and Draco ended up sitting on the floor next to Moql. 

'Tomorrow I'll show you around a little,' said Moql. Draco studied the effect of the pale light on her long fine hair, on her smooth pale skin. 'Take you to see the village.' Raman came in, his pretty lavender eyes shining, and Sharona gathered him up in a tight hug. The little white robe he wore made him look like a girl, what with that crop of long pale fleecy hair. 

'He looks like Draco did when he was little,' said Harry thoughtfully. 'Minus the wavy hair, of course, and the tan. Draco never had a tan.' 

'Watch it.' 

'You _didn_'_t_.' 

'Take them to see _him_,' suggested Reuben. 

Moql shifted. 'But Reuben…' 

'Do as I say, Moql.' Draco was leaning so close to her that he could feel her shudder. He rather enjoyed it, and wondered whether it was his cruel streak coming out. 'He must meet them. The dark-haired one in particular.' 

'Who's he?' Harry queried curiously. 

'Wait and see.' 

They passed the evening with small talk, Reuben even softening a little. When it was pitch-dark outside Moql and Reuben left them, and Sharona went to prepare their rooms; Draco and Harry were left in the circular room. Draco took the seat next to Harry's. He was light-headed with sleep and the effects of the first full stomach he had had for a long time, and so, it appeared, was Harry. 

'How do you like them so far?' Draco asked. 

'They're really nice,' Harry replied thoughtfully, 'but there's something about them…' 

'I know what you mean.' 

'They're hiding something.' 

They went up to bed with lighted lamps, and promptly had a fight over who was going to sleep on the bed. Those big green eyes of Harry's won Draco over, of course, and he settled into a comfortable sleeping position on the rug that Sharona had laid out for him. He fell asleep almost immediately. 

But Harry, staying awake a little while, had seen Sharona come out to put out the lamps, and asked, 'Who does Reuben want us to meet?' 

Sharona smiled, a smile that creased her whole face, and said, 'He is a powerful man, one of our most important people. He has been away for a long time. We need him back, for protection against the ghosts.' 

'He sounds pretty important to you,' said Harry. 

'Yes, he is,' said Sharona. 'His name is Remus Lupin.'

TO BE CONTINUED...

A/N : Review, please, it makes my day! :) There's more to these people than there seems - don't give up yet! Thank you, netshark, for taking the time to evaluate it and tell me what you really thought, thank you to butterfly_8, hermione556, marsgirl, Daine, Me! Franimal, Rowena G., Sierra, EmyMcGonagall and Rosmerta for giving me encouragement! If you guys want the next part soon please review...


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